Our Story - as much of it that can be told that is...

Chapter Six

The Seeds of Change

All in all, life in the house was unfolding with a degree of civility that had been missing for many years, and all who lived there were really quite content. Dugal ingratiated himself in the neighbourhood by wondering around on spring mornings, passing on his mother’s gardening tips on raising roses, tulips and politicians with the neighbours.

Naturally entropy insisted that this could not last.

On one auspicious day, Miss Zita arrived - this time to stay. She had been a visitor to the house for quite a long time, but as to actually residing there; well as you can imagine it rather perturbed the Pigs, who at first behaved themselves even when no one was looking. The Dragon Dragoons became rather withdrawn and the Colonel waited, and began a new book on JEB Stewart.

One of the very first things Zita did on arriving was to find room for all her TeddyBear companions along the far wall of the front bedroom. Unfortunately, within hours of their embarkation they began sticking out their tongues and making rude hand gestures at the Queen’s Own Pigs - who lived on, and in the bookshelf on the other side of the bed.

As you may well imagine the TeddyBears were very nervous about being dislocated. They were quite as confused at moving into Craig’s house - as the others were at their arrival. This accounted for their rather shabby behaviour, and the resulting escalation.

When the TeddyBears would stick out their tongues, the Pigs would write rude quotations in Gaelic on paper aeroplanes - and hurl them across the room. As time passed it just got worse.

The Queen’s Own became especially fond of mocking a small TeddyBear with green checked feet. This TeddyBear was a recent addition, having only recently emigrated with Zita from the County Meath, and was, as a result feeling quite fragile, and more than a bit shy. Most of the Pigs found his checkered green feet and matching bow tie, quite provincial, and very comical. They laughed at him a lot, which understandably embarrassed, and hurt his feelings. This caused him to hide all day long under the window shade at the head of the bed.

As could be expected, this made all the other TeddyBears furious, and as a result the whole bedroom was very unsettled.

One day while all of this was going on; tongues sticking out and obscure Gaelic curses floating through the room, both the Colonel, who naturally had the Gaelic, and Zita entered the room. They were shocked! Dugal ordered the Pigs to attention, and Zita had the TeddyBears turned around facing the wall.

Zita said “Thank goodness that they could not understand what the Pigs were saying or it would have turned into a series of ill judged donnybrooks just like that.”

The Colonel was astonished. He asked “Achhh nu, you’ll be excusing me your ladyship, but would it be that you have the Gaelic?”

She replied “Of course. I’m from Ireland can’t you tell? See the shamrock stains behind my ear.”

The Colonel was pleased; as were all of the Queen’s Own Pigs. They had someone to talk to in their own language. Not even Craiglellachie could speak Gaelic - though some said it was better then his French.

He asked “And what should we be calling yourself, your ladyship?”

“Why back home in Dublin I am called Zita NíChaomhaigh.” she said with a degree of contentment, - you see she did not have the opportunity to speak Irish very often either. All of them - the Queen’s Own Pigs, the TeddyBears and the Colonel thought it to be a very good name, and more importantly, very proper indeed.

Colonel Blackthorn-Badger went downstairs leaving her to sort out the Pigs and TeddyBears. He informed the Dragoons that everything was back to normal, well as normal as it ever got in this house, he supposed. Before he retired for the evening he announced they should mind, the appearance of a bonny wee lass was not going to turn his head. He was never going to drink Irish Whisky; as long as some of the Real Stuff was available! He wondered off to read about Stonewall Jackson. The Dragons went back to sleep, content. Actually they both preferred Billy Bishop’s biography anyway.


Chapter Seven


New Names, Some New Companions, and An Old Car

It was sunny out, and the young Rhinosasauris desperately wanted to get away from the confines of the house; away from his brother, away from his studies - away from it all.

All in all it had been a very hard couple of months, what with his first year’s final exams from the correspondence school arriving on Tuesday, and then the very next day his brother announcing that they really should have new names; names everyone could pronounce. It all had been very hard on him. Up till now his life had been almost sedate.

Well, sedate for a Rhinosasauris anyway. He had to admit that his brother’s rescue from the terrorist bookstore, had certainly stirred up all the companions who lived with him in the house on Holmwood.

Now he really needed to get out in the fresh air for a while. That was why he wanted to ask Craig if they could go for a ride. Maybe they could use the Blue Car, take the roof off and drive fast playing loud music. That would take his mind off his exams and the long list of names that his brother kept leaving on top of the stereo receiver where they slept. He needed to get away for a while, and maybe even have fresh blueberry milkshakes.

To tell the truth he had been thinking about the new names for some while. He knew that no one could pronounce a Rhinosasauris name. They were mostly grumbles, a precise foot stomping and a rather delicate twist of their tails, so he knew that he would have to find a new name sooner or later, though just at this moment later seemed quite the attractive alternative.”

Like all Rhinosasaurises who dealt with Peoples, his brother had taken a Gaelic Nom de Peoples. This ancient lyric language seemed to almost roll off their tongues, and with a rather nice vanilla flavour. Also it could not be ignored, that his brother’s old crony; Colonel Dugal, had said that the ancient Celtic language was Magic, and that the name of everything was very important and very powerful, but he could not seem to find a name that sounded much like himself.

His brother had, after much soul searching settled on the euphonic Haemish-Mór. He now wanted it embroidered over his jacket pocket.

The Colonel wore his Brigade of Guards badge sewn his sporran - and looked very official and consequential.

Haemish, having recently retired - with a pension - from the Mossad, sorely regretted not been able to wear his campaign medals or his smartly tailored paratroop uniform, but that was the promise he had made when he left that service, and a promise is a promise, especially to the Mossad, and especially from a Rhinosasauris.

Still, he considerably envied Dugal’s Imperial look.

Actually Queen Victoria herself would have been envious to see the way Colonel, The Honourable Dugal Blackthorn-Badger; 79th. Regiment of Foot, 51st. Highland Division, (S.A.S), (Ret.) GCMG, OBE, MC, DSO, and the coveted - Red and Black Order of Faisal The Bloody Minded, turned out each night to inspect his “Dragon Dragoon Guards” before they went on duty; after which he retired to his accustomed place in the dining room, with his big brass mug, a dram or two of his currently favorite Scotch, and one of his many large leather bound books.

Because of this slight feeling of being under turned-out, Haemish had asked Zita, very politely - if sometime - when she was not at all too busy - if she could put his new name on the collars of all his jackets, the inside of his best pith helmet, and perhaps embroider a small badge of a Rhinosasauris rampant on the front, if it was not too much trouble, ‘cause it would make him very happy and much more presentable and significant.

Ms. Kavanagh said that she would be only too happy to oblige Mister Haemish-Mór, if he would only draw her a picture of this proposed badge.

Which was how his little brother left him, lying on the bed watching Much Music, with piles of drawing paper all around him trying to design a badge based on an old photo of their great-uncle and Chinese Gordon, taken during the ill-famed defense of Khartomb.

As he walked down the hall he mused that at least his big brother had a real name, all he had were suggestions. Ranald, Fergus, Colin, Jamie. So many names, and if it was as important as Dugal said, he would have to think very carefully about it; especially since when he had passed all his exams and could put Dr. at the beginning.

He hopped down off the bookshelf, onto the bed, avoiding the drawing paper, jumped down on to the floor and ran out into hall. He did up the belt on his jacket, re-seated his helmet, and descended the stairs so that he would be available the next time a car ride was in the offing.

In the living room, the dragons were asleep; one leaning against the blue chair, the other was curled up under the small table, shaded by the left speaker. The Rhinosasauris waved at them anyway, because he had been brought up to be polite. He climbed over the sofa, along the bookshelf, and on to the big sideboard where all the stereo equipment and the Colonel lived.

Dugal was looking at the new version of “The Pines of Rome” that Craig had bought the week before. He was exceedingly glad to see the Little Rhinosasauris as now that Haemish’s little brother could push the “open” button while he dropped the little disc in to the tray, and then he could settle back for a quiet snooze in the Italian country side.

“Could use a hand here.” he said to the little Rhinosasauris and between them they put things to right. After all this exercise the Colonel asked what was one of the Clan Rhinosasauri doing downstairs, as they, the TeddyBears and the Queen’s Own Pigs usually stayed upstairs; except when the refrigerator called or an adventure was in the offing.

The Rhinosasauris looked around before replying, “I want to get away from things for a while, perhaps go for a ride in the Blue car. I have had a lot to think about you see.”

Colonel Dugal did not usually pry into others private affairs, and contented himself with saying that he had heard Craiglellachie-liath was going shopping after lunch, so maybe he should sit on the dining room table where he could not fail to be noticed. The Rhinosasauris thought this was an excellent hint and he scrambled up onto the dining room table and promptly fell asleep on his hat, with the wind gently blowing along the Appian Way in the background.

Asleep he faintly heard the familiar sound of a tub of ice cream being opened, and realized it was time to awake. As he rolled over he caught his hat on his horn so that when he sat up all he could see was the inside of his hat. He was mortified and it took several seconds to get it on properly, and straighten up his jacket. When he looked around Craig was lying on the sofa with his feet in his chair reading a book, Zita was on the other side of the room looking through her newspaper. Both had empty bowls of ice-cream in their laps.

“I know that you are disappointed,” said Craig “but if you must sleep through out lunch, the ice-cream usually disappears without a spoonful being left.” He looked over towards the brown chair.

“He’s already a little chubby, even for a Rhinosasauris, if you ask Me.” said Zita, with a hint of guilt in her voice. The Rhinosasauris was still far too embarrassed about his struggle with his hat to notice the comments about his waistline.

While he had been asleep the Colonel had mentioned that “The wee lad” wanted to go for a ride, because something was on his mind. Craig and Zita had decided that when he awoke, Craig would suggest that the two of them go for a ride in the country.

“I have to go out and test the new tires, would you like to come along?” he asked.

“Why yes that would be quit nice, as long as you are sure I would be no bother.” he said. So Craig got into his blue chair and helped the Rhinosasauris off the dining room table, grabbed his wallet and his best driving gloves and moments later the two were off to explore the world, at least a few hours of it.

The Car Ride

The younger Rhinosasauris always had liked the Blue Car, although why it had a large gold bird on the hood, he could not understand. It never sounded like a bird. It usually sounded like the hubbub that usually followed the regular Bear argument as to the role of the World Bank and the WTO in the development of non-partisan exploitation of the world’s honey resources.

Since even the largest Rhinosasauri are not too big, Craig folded a blanket into a square, so that his accomplice could sit on it, look out the window and still use the seat belt. They took the roof panels off and put them in the back seat along with the chair, rummaged in the glove compartment for some driving around music - settling on Warren Zevon and then they set off into the warm summer afternoon, music blaring and exhaust rumbling.

The Rhinosasauris found Zita’s sun glasses stuck in the sun visor and put them on, did up his chin strap, adjusted the seat, and sat back to enjoy the sights.

They surprised a BMW going up the entrance ramp onto the Queensway. The Rhinosasauris thumbed his horn, said some awful things in German at it, and chortled to itself as he remembered the drubbing his old Ferrari used to hand out to all those smart-alack Mercedes’ and Auto Unions; but that was a long time ago, before he had reluctantly stored the car in the smaller stable on Mme. Deneuve’s estate in far Province. Anyway they were off to see the country and to experience new things in the wilds. Well not the very wild - the land around Ottawa was not like his parent’s home in Vale of Haut Blu, but at least he could smell the countryside and that was enough for now.

Most of his time was usually spent reading his books and practicing his writing, so he could do exceptionally well in the Doctor by Mail correspondence school, run by the Royal Rhinosasauris School of Medicine. Unfortunately the school trustees in Ottawa had never ever heard of the Rhinosasauris, and therefore didn’t believe in integrating them in the schools. This had been very disappointing for him. He had gone to school in Tanganyika, Paris, Cairo and Istanbul while traveling, but somehow the Peoples in North America couldn’t allow themselves believe in a small rhinoceros that could speak (Which is what a Rhinosasauris is - for those of you who didn’t know or had somehow forgotten), or Imperial Badgers from the SAS or Dragons or even that TeddyBears have feelings and are very musical (many being Celt, you see), or that most of the Plush Pigs in the world are Scots and speak Gaelic (though not very good Gaelic, mind you) - There was not a smidgen of imagination left.

Well, he made an exception for Craiglellachie - but no one ever suggested that he wasn’t a bit strange. The Pigs said that it was growing up in the sixties that did it. According to them his mind was filled with the most peculiar things - Maps of Trafalgar and Culloden, amplifiers with pointy feet, tubes, tanks, and Angus-Ög, just to shave the surface.

Funny pieces of electronic equipment always littered the house and needed to be guarded by the Colonel’s Dragon Dragoon Guards (Airmobile), or so they claimed.

There had also been some discrete discussion amongst all the Animeaux as to why he wasn’t able to walk so very well. The Colonel said that Craiglellachie-liath had thought about so many difficult things for so long that he forgotten how to walk and that’s why he needed the blue chair. But the Colonel and the Dragons had been with him a long time and were inclined to be just a bit romantic about some things, he had heard.

And well, as for Zita - she was too young to know any better and anyway she was of the Gael and therefore was Magic, or so said all the Pigs. And they would know.

While the Rhinosasaurises was quietly thinking about all these things, they got off the Queensway and headed towards Carleton Place. Now he knew where they were going! To Mac’s old house. Well this would be fun he thought, he wondered if Mac made any kind of blueberry milkshakes. They rumbled up in front of the old log house parked the car and went around the side into the back yard.

The big Apple-green International four-by-four was in the drive, so they knew that Mac was home. When they looked around they saw the small hill of canoes growing beside the little barn, so they wandered down and peeked in. Mac was there looking at the size of the room and the lengths of the canoes.

Craig said “Might as well stop now, they won’t shrink no matter how long you stare at them”.

Mac said, “Yes they will - I have been staring at them for two weeks and they are much shorter now - do I get introduced to your friend?”

Craig replied “Oh, I am sorry, Of course; Mister Robert Grant MacPherson, this is my friend the younger Rhinosasauris.”

All of a sudden the Rhinosasauris said “I do have a real name you know!” and proceeded to make several snorts and three grunts, while at the same time stomping the ground in time with his rear leg, giving a quick whirl of his tail he sat down.

Craig said, “Well I have never seen you do THAT before.”

The Rhinosasauris replied that he had never been formally introduced to anyone before, and then big tears started to trickle down behind the sun glasses, “But no one can ever pronounce our names, and it is not very genteel to be called the Younger Rhinosasauris all the time, especially when I do have a name and it’s not my fault that you Peoples can’t say it.” His tears rolled down his nose and hit the ground. They left little muddy spots in the dust as he walked back and forth with his hands clasped in front of him. He felt quite alone for the first time since arriving at the house on Holmwood.

Mac asked if they would like to go for a walk down to the river and over the bridge and see if they together all three of them could find an answer to this problem. (Mr. Mac had been a parole officer and was used to tricky situations you see.)

The Rhinosasauris lifted the sun glasses and wiped his eyes, looking around to see if anyone else had seen the tears. Even if they were not great in size the Rhinosasauris were all very great in dignity.

On the way down the hill he said “My brother has decided to become “Mister Haemish-Mór”, which is a Celtic name, you see. Celtic names are most always used when we are out of the Far-World. Dugal says that they are quite the most appropriate names for us; but I am having the devil’s own time finding a proper and fitting one for myself.”

Both David Craig Taylor and Robert Grant MacPherson agreed with the Colonel that Gaelic was the very best of languages for names.

Mac said that he had just finished an exciting book where the hero was a brave defender of lost causes, either the Stewart Kings or a reasonable tax policy, he could not remember which. This hero’s name was Callum McCallum.

“Callum McCallum!” The little Rhinosasauris said quite abruptly. He repeated it to himself as he walked down to the other end of the bridge. He sang it to the wind and shouted it into the rushing water. He wrote it on the ground with his toe. He sat on the railing and copied it into his pocket diary several times. After all this, he skipped back to where Craig and Mac were sitting on the edge of the bridge. He said that it sounded just wonderful - and so very much like his actual name, though neither Craig or Mac could hear the similarity. He took off his pith helmet and threw it high into the air and cheered “Hooray!”

Mac caught it just before it flew into the river, and said “I got some fresh blueberries in. How about we go back to the house and make up some milkshakes?”

As they strolled back to the house they could hear the occasional small tear falling from the Rhinosasauris Callum McCallum, but he was reciting “Scots W’hae Wi’Wallace Bled”, and “Young Lochinvar” and hopping from one foot to the other so they figured everything was really quite alright.


Chapter Eight

Winter Develops a Southern Accent

It was only a few weeks after their trip to the country, when Zita was out, Craig was working on the computer, and everyone else was upstairs in the den watching “Zulu”, when the door bell rang. Craig answered it. It was The Police. The two Dragons sprinted for the rear door, everyone else rushed to conceal their duplicate passports and bearer bonds. Except for Dugal, who being an old hand at this, had long ago hid his bags of plastic explosives, and several casks of perhaps slightly under taxed scotch.

Downstairs Craig had opened the door and while his friend Staff Sergeant Bill did his best to ignore the incriminating commotion, and asked “Where’s the coffee? Any doughnuts?”

Craig replied, “What are you doing here? Too boring just driving around turning on the siren and being a nuisance? There’s coffee in the kitchen, I think.”

“Thanks - Is it fresh? - Though I am actually here on official business.”

Craig said “Great. You wouldn’t recognize fresh coffee if it was poured in your ears. When did you get so picky? Anyway I thought I had all those parking tickets paid up.”

“Look I’ve got some sort of refugee in the car, we picked it up at the train station, hiding in the lost luggage room - won’t talk, well not to us anyway, but he had a note pinned to the inside of his hat - your address. It was written on the stationary of some lawyer in New Orleans - know anyone down there?”

In truth, Craig’s old friend Bonnie was a lawyer in New Orleans, but he had not heard from her in months. She was running afoul of the current politicians down there the last time he had been talking her. He hoped everything was alright.

“Why yes I do, which is of course irrelevant; come on Bill let’s see exactly what you have out there.”

Sergeant Bill reached back and opened the screen door a little wider, and a rather spiffily attired lion strolled in. He was tall, wearing a tightly tailored, bright red shooting jacket, and highly polished riding boots. Incongruously he had a train engineer’s stripped hat on at a jaunty angle. He looked around quite slowly, walked over and got up on the sofa. He had not yet uttered a word.

“Can I see the note?” Craig asked. Bill handed over the torn and much crumpled piece of paper. The address on the top of the page was in New Orleans, “Well it seems as if it must be Miss Bonnie who sent him.” he thought aloud.

Bill nodded and said that he would call back in a couple of days, if Craig would take responsibility for the stranger. He left with a pocket full of cookies, and a cup of coffee, both of which he promised to return.

Craig sat down on the sofa and looked at the new arrival. He cut quite a figure in the bright jacket and CNR hat, his blonde mane peeking out, all askew. He offered the stranger a cup of coffee, and received only a quick nod in response. He went to the kitchen to pour him the last cup, and to find the small tin of chocolate biscuits Zita kept in reserve for such occasions. After they had finished their snack in silence Craig suggested that the guest meet the remainder of the household, and brought the lion upstairs to the den where the other Animeaux had gathered for the nightly cinema-fest, and attempted to introduce him.

This proved a bit difficult; as “Zulu” had reached a very exciting point and it made the formalities seem a bit much, so he said “Listen, my friend Bonnie has sent this gentleman up here for a visit, so make him comfortable.”

Everyone moved over a bit on the sofa and Callum put the bowel of curried popcorn into their centre - none had said a word. Craig shook his head and went back down stairs.

When Zita got home from the fashion show, he said, “We seem to have a new house guest upstairs. A visitor from Louisiana. Don’t know his name and he won’t, or can’t talk. He had our address written on some of Bonnie’s letterhead. I’ve tried calling her but there has been no answer.

He is up watching a movie with the rest of them. Perhaps Callum or Haemish can figure out what’s going on.”

The Secret of Monsieur Beauregard Clayton-Lyon

Later, when they retired to bed they noticed that the lion was sharing the shelf with Callum and Haemish, and was fast asleep.

“Well do either of you know what is going on?” Craig asked.

Callum said “He has not uttered a word, aside from please; thank-you; and pass the cocoa. He does have a pronounced southern accent and appears to be unusually neat and tidy in his habits.”

Zita said that this was a worthwhile trait that some could copy with success. Craig and the Animeaux ignored this comment.

The TeddyBear with the Red Toque said, “I asked him where he got his spiffy engineer’s hat. He told me that he had traded it for his Fedora somewhere around Wawa - Though I don’t know where that is myself. He said that he was never going back home and wanted to look more “Native”, but nobody had any Montreal Canadien’s hockey sweaters that they would trade, but he thought the hat would do until he could join the Royal North West-Mounted Police—that’s why he bought the red jacket you see. I think he was disappointed that Staff Sergeant Bill had a car instead of a horse, but he realized that perhaps the cars were warmer in winter. It seems that your friend Bonnie told him that this would be a good place for him to stay until things cooled down in Baton Rouge.”

“Why do things have to cool off in Baton Rouge?” Haemish asked.

“I don’t know if I can be sure of what I heard, he was talking very softly, and as the rest of you were whooping it up, it was quite noisy.”

He turned to Zita and said, “One of those Pigs was trying to copy Michael Cain’s accent, without much success I must say, and everyone else was singing “We’re Soldiers of the Queen” but I think there had been a duel. Some sort of an affair of honour he said.”

Both Haemish and Callum were only too well aware of affairs of honour, being Rhinosasaurises. They pulled out one of their better plaid blankets from under the stereo, and wrapped it around the sleeping lion’s shoulders.

“It must have been very hard on him to leave his home - I wonder if she was just very beautiful or simply overwhelming? Said Callum.

Zita asked “Why must you two always assume that anything to do with honour has to refer to a woman?”

“If it is an affair of honour its always, always over a woman.” said Callum.

Haemish Harrumphed, and Callum quickly said “Well some times, but very, very rarely its over a case of fine vintage port.”, another harrumph flooded the room, “ - or a bent intake valve on ones Ferrari Cabriolet could be considered sufficient cause for a minor duel, I guess.” said Callum rather guiltily.

(As has been said the Rhinosasaurises had a finely tuned sense of honour and it appeared that either Callum or Haemish had been rather rigorous in its’ application at one time or another.)

“Why don’t all of you Animeaux try to put him at ease and find out why Bonnie sent him here.” said Craig as they settled down to watch the National News.

A few days had passed when one evening while Craig was reading the “Cheap and Excellent Automobiles for sale” section of the paper they all came sliding down the banister; each doing a back flip dismount just before the newel post brought them up short - or at least shorter than they already were.

The lion stepped forward and made a half bow, “I am pleasured to make your acquaintance. I am very grateful to you for offering me this sanctuary, while the forces of evil and despair are being taken care of by my avocat. Mizz Bonnie assured me that you were very hospitable, but she neglected to inform me that you already had several charming house guests. I am afraid that all of this has taken me quite by surprise and I must surely apologize for my perhaps taciturn behaviour of the other night.”

At this, he swept off his hat bowed towards Craig and Dugal and then turned, walked over bowed and kissed Zita’s hand.

“Beauregard Clayton-Lyon at your service. If I may be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to call on me or mine - though unfortunately at the moment I am rather at a disadvantage since my dear mother’s half of my family is rather put out with me. But my other side - the Savannah Claytons - have assured me of their full and undying support until this, this, ‘disorder’ is all over, or until my blackguard cousin Montague chokes on his own bile and expires to the relief of most of three parishes.”

All the rest of the Animeaux applauded and went looking for chairs so they could get into the freezer.

As they trooped into the kitchen Craig asked, “Might I be as bold as to ask what small matter of honour has brought you all the way up here?”

Beauregard replied “Well it is quite delicate matter. The reputation of a married woman is at stake.”

Craig said he was really quite familiar with the reputations of married women, and that he was unlikely to be shaken by any revelations Mister Beauregard might make.

Beauregard looked around the room before replying “I shan’t go into needless detail, but suffice it to say that Miss Therese is from an old Cajun family and has a rather casual attitude to bathing costumes. But regardless of how it looked, Cousin Montague had no cause to make the accusations he did. ‘Specially as he couldn’t fence his way through a cotton field, and anyway he won’t really need his right arm as he is mostly left handed—the other wounds will probably heal in a year or two - if he is lucky and does not go to his quack brother for treatment - I would have more faith in Mister Callum, and he has only finished the first year of his correspondence school. Now it seems that the judicial authorities take a dim view of dueling nowadays. That’s what Mizz Bonnie D’Avocat suggested before she told me that a fair trial was unlikely and I should make myself scarce for a while.

I also heard that Miss Therese’s 12 older brothers have finally seen through my cousin’s cruel charade, and intend to give him a thorough thrashing or a lynching - depending on the weather that day. Mizz Bonnie thought that I should be out of the country while all this settles itself out.”

Craig said all things considered that perhaps this was the most sensible suggestion and that Beauregard was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted.

By this time all the others had stood shoulder on shoulder until they got the freezer door open and rummaged around until they found the ice cream, where Zita had hidden it, and were looking for the chunky peanut butter - to make their world famous peach-ripple ice-cream and peanut butter on rye sandwiches. Beauregard hearing the commotion excused himself, as he wanted to write down the recipe - at home he was noted as something of a chef, he said as he rushed into the kitchen.

Summer Wishes - Winter Cars

A few moments later Haemish walked into the living room, sat down, spreading a napkin in his lap, and said, “We really must do something about planning for winter. We don’t want to be caught unprepared. Just look what happened to Dugal’s friends in the Khyber Pass back in the 80s. All lost for the want of a little planning. We mustn’t be caught unprepared. The winds are blowing from the north, and the far wound in my leg has been troubling me at night. I am sure that we shall have snow before the turning of the moon.”

The fact that it was nearly October made this forecast just a bit redundant, but Craig held his tongue and asked what spiffy ideas the Animeaux had been hatching to resolve the predicament of a long, boring winter.

“Sure we are working at it.” came the ominous reply. Craig shuddered.

It was but a few weeks later when the Animeaux began their schemes for overcoming the onset of onerous winter. The newly proclaimed Callum McCallum announced that he wanted to perfect his downhill style. Dugal saw winter as a fine excuse for his preference of sitting in front of the fire with a good book, a brass mug and his private brand of scotch, listening to the wind howl. All the TeddyBears said that they fully intended to take up cross country skiing this year. The Dragons hated winter because their wings always iced up. Craig was on their side; he disliked winter and felt it should be fought on all fronts, and at all costs. He also felt that in spite of their protestations the TeddyBears were far more interested in the fashion side of the sport as they seemed to spend many more hours thumbing through “Vogue” and “Elle” than “Sports Illustrated”.

Haemish-Mór seemed to discover his renewed interest in downhill skiing about the same time he discovered that his Miss Tanya had moved to Ottawa, and fully intended to continue to spend her winter hours getting quite cold - but looking great - on skis. Zita was not impressed. She also thought all of this was just an excuse for everyone of them to put in an order for new and trendy winter clothes.

The thought of winter brought on a lengthy discussion about the Blue Car. After overhearing the recreational plans, it had stated, that it was not a station wagon, and had no intention of spending its winter traipsing about, carrying one and all from one cold, snowy place to another. It didn’t much like the snow and anyway Craig had promised it a winter vacation.

It’s attitude was not in the least surprising, as its big engine and the snow seemed always to be at odds, and to be entirely truthful the Car was rather out of its element and became duly embarrassed when it would spin its tires unintentionally, or slide around corners. It would always make the corners but with a certain lack of style and precision that aggravated it and terrified on-lookers.

The TeddyBears had also quietly pointed out that there was not a great deal of extra room in the Blue Car especially since the trunk could not hold any of their skis. The emerging view was that it should get to spend the winter in well earned repose, and they should get a different automobile for the winter toils. The Animeaux offered a combined three dollars and thirty seven cents, apiece to help pay for this, which was, all things considered, generous of them.

So Craig and Zita continued to look for cars, big ones and medium ones, tiny and little one were excluded since they would be unable to take all the skis, down jackets, and Spandex pants that the entire household seemed to be requiring before approaching the slopes.

(In spite of these efforts no suitable vehicle appeared. By now it had turned into November and the Blue Car was seeing its vacation float away with the fall leaves.)

BT-McG makes His Appearance

It was three days before the end of the month, while Craig was unsuccessfully trying to light a log fire, that he felt a presence behind him. He glanced to the side and noticed that most all the Animeaux were standing around him in a large semicircle. Haemish handed him some dry kindling, and Callum suggested a quick dash of kerosene then said, “We had a meeting, and all think that you need our help finding a winter omnibus. We have come down to have dessert with you, and brought along some suggestions. Monsieur Beauregard owned several cars before his present ‘difficulties’ and he said that if he could borrow your tools we could check out the condition of any potential bargains ourselves.”

Haemish said, “We have received a very kind offer of assistance from Big TeddyBear McGruph. His second uncle used to sell cars “up t’valley”. Though which valley I am not too sure. He says we should buy a ‘Mar’can car, since they are in plentiful supply, and can be maintained with a number two screw driver and strong tape. Now actually he seems to favour cars manufactured by some military gentleman with the rather odd family name of Motors - Though I must say I have never seen him on the retired list. - He said his second cousin, on his mother’s side, has a niece who has a friend who has an elderly Nova that is looking for a new home. Now I a not at all familiar with Mister McGruph’s family, though the TeddyBears seem to trust him without question, and he has been a big help getting Monsieur Beauregard settled.”

Craig looked up from his attempt to re-ignite the logs, and said “Big TeddyBear McGruph, I don’t remember any Big TeddyBear McGruph staying here?”

Haemish called out “BT-McG - would you have the time to come over here for a moment.”

From amidst the mass of Animeaux stepped a medium to large, very furry, dark-chocolate brown TeddyBear, wearing a beige pith helmet with a red hat band and a regimental badge affixed to it’s front. The helmet was nearly identical to those always worn by Haemish and Callum McCallum. His black eyes were deep set, almost invisible behind the ruff of opulent fur. There was a bright red silk sash running from his shoulder to his hip. A small Canadian flag was pinned to it.

He stopped in front of Craig and extended his paw; after wiping all traces of ice cream from it. There was a rough leather patch on the inside of his fore-arm.

“G’day, pleased to meet ch’er. Nice day eh”

“Well I suppose so.” said Craig, “And I am pleased to meet you, though you do seem to have the advantage of me. I understand that we have been neighbours for a while and I apparently did not notice it.”

“No hard feelin’s.” said BT-McG, “T’be honest, should have introduced my self weeks ago, but y’know how one t’ing leads t’nother.... and getting TeddyBears ship shape and Bristol fashion was tak’ng all of my attentions.”

“I didn’t realize that some thing was wrong with the TeddyBears. I thought that Dugal had straightened everything out with them and the Pigs?” said Craig with some surprise and concern in his voice.

“Nut’en to worry yerr-own-self ‘bout. They was just a bit home sick. D’Colonel phoned the War Office looking for someone wit’ some ‘perience wit’ TBears, ‘pecially Irish ones. Well t’ought of me right away. I served along side many Irish troopers when I was Regimental Sergeant Major of our own Princess Pats. I spent many pleasant hours hiding out in cellars wit’ them in d’Peace Maken Forces in Bosnia. Now unhappily I’am bit at loose ends, livin’ wit’ the family ‘up the Prior’ since my arm was mashed-in some, far over there, and I had to retire. I jumped at a chance to do somet’en interestin’. Had a meet’ng here one night ‘while back, but you and the wife were ‘way for the week-end. ‘Guess it slipped our minds. They suggested I sign up as tutor t’the TeddyBears - the little one with green feet, other with the Red Tuque and d’BigWhite one who don’t talk much. Really don’t need a tutor ya’ know, just kind of suitable companion, but t’ings are working out just fine - eh?.

Now ‘bout the winter car I was speaken’ to Mr Haemish of. It’s a nice blue Nova. Now, to be sure it’s not the newest and it does have some bits painted primer, but beauty is only skin deep eh, and there’s plenty of room for all the skis, lunches and us in the back seat. I t’ink we can get it for only $950 - Let’s all off and pay a visit?”

(It had been far too much in one day for Craig, so he did not even bother to argue, so got his cheque book and jacket. He then called Zita.)

They all piled in the Blue Car, and drove up highway 7, which passed through the Ottawa Valley, until they reached the small town where BT-McG’s somewhat friend’s car was parked.

They all got out and had a long look. It had passed with some grace into middle age, and showed the evidence of attention to the normal rigors of car life in a cold climate. The rust spots had been filled and sprayed, here and there, with the white primer over the original blue paint. The interior was quite clean, though the tires were not of the first quality. It tried hard to look as dignified as it could.

Craig talked to the owner - while the Blue Car visited with the Nova.

In a few minutes they had agreed to a price of $800, but before he wrote the cheque he returned to the Blue car to find out what it had learned. He sat in the driver’s seat, turned on the radio and just listened...

“It has lived 60,000 rather hard miles, and is more then a little tired. Its battery and alternator should be retired, and it feels a little unsteady on its feet as its front springs are careworn, and its tires are, well shall we say, they are not what they could be, but it would be happy to spend its last few years being useful. You know how much we all hate having to become useless. All the guys and I think it would try its very best.”

Craig said “Well what more could anyone want from anything but for it to try its best.” and turned off the radio. Moments later he signed the cheque.

The Nova started up and Zita drove it back to town, accompanied by Haemish and Callum and all the Queen’s Own. Beauregard and BT-McG stayed with Craig in the Blue Car. On the ride home they all talked about things that were important to them. The spread of parliamentary democracy, the new fur fashions from Germany, the scandalous price of good wines and nice houses, and the present state of the North American car industry.

(Both of them had been deeply concerned that Craig might have bought a foreign car, putting many of their friends in GM out of work, and perhaps adversely affecting their own stock portfolios. As the city approached they hummed and harrumphed for a while, commented on the state of the road and the Colour of the evening sky; then taking their courage in their hands they quietly admitted to having cut out of the newspaper all the advertisements for Honda, Peugeot and Aston-Martin, so he would not be tempted. The Blue Car was completely in agreement and launched into a rather convoluted—and not particular accurate lecture on the world auto trade. By the time the city’s traffic began to intrude they all thought themselves quite clever and very patriotic. Naturally they were also very satisfied with themselves — which was the normal state for all Animeaux.)

When they got home they left the Nova at the service station where they changed all the worn parts. The next day they all went to Commercial Tire where they bought four new snow tires.

When this had been accomplished they drove over Craig’s Mother’s place. She had kindly offered her garage to the Blue Car for the winter. After it had been parked, Zita covered it with a soft knit cover, and then they all wished it a good vacation. BT-McG left the last two years of Road&Track on the dash, for it to digest; then whole gang got into the Nova and drove off home.

By the time they had reached Percy Street the Nova was convinced that it was now quite nimble and sure of foot on its new tires. It was also was very glad to be with People who bought Brand Name parts. It felt all prepared to do its very best battling the onslaught of winter for the household on Holmwood.

As they turned into the driveway they were met by the usual scruffy assortment of TeddyBears, skis on their shoulders, step-in boots slung around their necks, and their collection of ski-hill maps spread out on the ground. Two were arguing over the whereabouts of the mis-packed Roleiflex and the extra thermos of chili chutney.